The 100th Hunger Games
by Clatodesta
Summary: What if Mockingjay isn't the end; what if Katniss dies; what if Snow had a granddaughter... Anita Snow emerges from a secret organization and seizes back the Capitol. Anyone who ever knew Katniss Everdeen is dead. However, the fourth Quarter Quell, the 100th annual Games, doesn't go as planned, and some people who were thought to be dead, are not... ((please review))
1. Disclaimer :)

Disclaimer: I don't own the Hunger Games, all rights to Suzanne Collins, etc etc.

If I did own the Hunger Games, Finnick wouldn't be dead and Effie Trinket would have a happy ending. Just sayin'.

Also please review, this is my first ever ever published story. Be kind, but constructive criticism is very very welcome. Also, be sure to keep an eye on me, because I have loads of half-written stories about other characters and stories, so you know, just sayin', you and be could learn to like each other..

That's all, folks!

Enjoy the story x


	2. Chapter 1

**Broken promises lead to broken people**

_Prologue:_

_What is death, but a mystery, those who experience it, do not live to tell the tale, and once it's done, it's done, so why not enjoy it, make an adventure of it? Die on a journey; die in a fight; die in combat or die in flight; and may the odds be ever in your favour. _

Chapter One 

"25 years ago, there was no winner of the 75th Hunger Games. 25 years ago, mighty treason occurred, and that is why, 20 years ago today, Katniss Everdeen and all that knew her were executed."

Blah. Blah. Blah. Politics, economics, history... what was it to me? Don't get me wrong, this interested me greatly and I secretly adored Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, but it was the same every year. Every new year of school, we got the same two and a half hour speech about the 'Dark Days' and the 'Hopeless Days'. In the Dark Days, all 13 Districts existed. They rebelled. 13 were obliterated, or so people thought, and as punishment, the Hunger Games were created, where two kids from each District fought to the death until a victor remained. The victor was seen to be bathed in riches, while in reality, they were either killing themselves with alcohol or morphine to take away the never ending wounds from the Games, or were sold repeatedly to the greedy Capitol to fulfil their sick wishes. Whatever happened, the Games were never over for the victors. All Districts were slaves to the capitol, and people had been plotting for years for an end to it all, and it wasn't until Katniss pulled out her nightlock to sacrifice herself and Peeta in the 74th Hunger Games, so as to not have a victor, did the plans really kick off. The Capitol saw that as an act of rebellion and to make them seem foolish. The Districts saw it as an act of hope, that the Games could be overcome and manipulated, therefore so could the Capitol, and Katniss just saw it as an impulse because she did not want to kill Peeta. The Hopeless Days had begun. The 75th Hunger Games consisted of all the old victors fighting against each other, but secretly the Head Gamemaker, Plutarch Havensbee, and a load of other rebel leaders were planning to get them all out and start an all out war against the Capitol. In the end, lives and minds were lost, but Panem finally belonged to everyone. A good amount of money for everyone, jobs available everywhere, and for the first time ever, District to District access was available.

That is, until, Anita Snow executed President Paylor and the Underground emerged.

Panem only had five years of freedom. Happiness. But the new Capitol of today called it the Hopeless Days. Personally, I think it is absolutely ridiculous, but even the slightest treason can cause an uprising these days.

Anita Snow and her army of the old Capitol leaders and soldiers overthrew President Paylor and her new democratic system. Snow then proceeded to point every single nuclear missile in the country to each District, and threatened to press shoot if anybody opposed her. Of course, no one thought that would actually happen, as there was no way a sustainable population could carry on if districts were bombed, until Katniss and the old crew came up with a plan; but before anybody could say nightlock, 12 were bombed. Snow was clever. Too clever. Before anybody knew it, Panem was back to pre-Hopeless Days and The Hunger Games were back. This sick and blood-thirsty new President Snow explained that her grandfather, the original President Snow, left her a letter when she was very small, explaining the Dark Days, the Hunger Games, why democracy was a useless way to live. Anita Snow read this letter to the whole of Panem. Rebellions happened almost instantly, but all were obliterated. It seems Anita and her grandfather were very prepared for this. After 6 failed rebellions, Panem did try no longer, especially as the heart, soul and fire was now dead: The Girl on Fire.

Districts 1,2,3,4,5,6,7,8,9,10,11 and 13 (who the majority of which still live underground) were back to being slaves to the Capitol. The rules were a little more relaxed, the Peacekeepers not so harsh and best of all, District to District visits were still allowed. The only thing wrong with Anita Snow was her blood-thirsty love for the Hunger Games and the nuclear missiles ever poised at our backs, hanging over us like poisonous shadows.

The Games were back, and although Panem left off at 75, the next games were called the 80th Hunger Games, because Snow wanted to pretend that the Games still went on during the five years of democracy. Basically, she wanted to erase the fact that democracy ever happened and just to carry on her grandfather's rule as if nothing happened.

She said we would get used to it.

And we did.

The 80th Hunger Games were the worst. Nobody wanted to kill one another and Anita Snow and the Supremes were getting bored (The Capitol slipped happily back into their blood lusting ways). The Gamemakers were forced to send in an innumerable amount of 'natural disasters' such as animals, floods, fires, mutts, and even tribute clones to confuse real tributes. The victor (who won by working out that some tributes were clones therefore killed all what he thought were the clones, but really turned out to be real tributes) was so distraught by what he had done that he committed suicide. As a particular fan of Katniss Everdeen, his method was of course, nightlock.

The head master finished his long speech and the new 1st years were stunned, as per usual, every year. High school is when you first learn about the history of Panem. Even at the Reaping, anyone younger than 11 doesn't know why we have a Hunger Games, which was fine, because anyone younger than 11 wasn't even entered. At the Reaping, there were no longer any silly speeches, simply a Capitol escort reads out the names, and takes you to a train to the capitol. It's an awful shock for your first day. Of course every school in Panem gets complaints every year, but what can you do when you got missiles at your back? Nothing. The best thing to do is just forget about the ever hanging death threat at your shoulder and just live a crime-free life. Most people do. Those who don't: nightlock in their supper. I don't know how she does it, President Snow, but she seems to know everything.

The school was dismissed from the hall and we were to go to our first lessons. I only had three years of school left, and that seemed ridiculous, I was only 15. But once you're 15, you get work experience every month. For me, I was on the kayaking and fishing team and one of the best at it if I do say so myself. I would miss school, though, the ever learning and ever making friends. But socialising wasn't a problem anymore when you catch a train to anywhere. And that was convenient because my best friend just happened to live in District 13, and I lived all the way in 4.

It had been a harsh summer, and even it autumn the heat didn't let out, but that wasn't a problem with the beach on your doorstep. Often, I would have a small breakfast of fruit, run a few metres out the door, and dive in, letting the familiar feel of cool water surround me, and causing my long dark hair to float like smoke tendrils around my face.

Malik often said I looked like a ghost underwater, but in a nice kind of way. He was odd, my best friend, but what can you expect from someone who prefers to live underground? I could not wait for this first week of term to be over, as he was meant to be coming over this weekend. He prefers to spend the hotter days in District 4 with me, and this year, I promised I would teach him how to fish.

We met by accident, two years ago. I had just had an argument with my mother and I ran to the train station, screaming that I was leaving home. She didn't believe me until I didn't come home that night. Tears of anger streaming down my face, I hopped on the train, not knowing where I was going. I had visited most districts before, what with family all over the country, but never 13. I never saw much attraction in 13. But in my red-tinted angry mind, that was where I decided to go. The train had stopped for fuel in District 8 so I had decided to stretch my legs on the platform. I saw a boy, fairly tall, dark blonde hair, a constant faint smile on his face. I guessed I had been watching him for a while without realising, because suddenly he looked up and raised his eyebrows at me in a greeting. I smiled in return, and he looked kind of taken aback. I felt the faint feelings of flattery stir inside me, so I decided to talk to him.

"Did you know apples are 25% air?" he said when I approached him.

I smiled, "I think I did actually. Do you think that's why they float?"

He nodded, "I expect so. I'm Malik." He held out his hand.

"Tyger." We shook hands. He had a strong, firm grip, not too tight. Smooth hands.

He had looked at me for a moment, right into my eyes. I felt a bit insecure, as if he were reading my entire life. "Where are you headed?" he had asked finally.

"Oh, erm, uh..." I couldn't seem to speak. What was this boy?! I shook my head. "13. District 13."

He snorted in laughter, "why? It's not a popular place for a holiday."

I was confused then, and wondering, why was I going to 13? I was luggage-less and homeless, what would I find in 13? "No idea. Impulsive decision. What about you?"

"District 4, lovely place. I come from 13, but I've just been staying here in 8 for a week with my grandparents. I'm just waiting for my train now."

I had wanted to say something to him, maybe the fact that my grandparents lived in 8 too, or the fact that my home was in 4, and that maybe we could visit each other some time, but my train had whistled and I knew I had to go. Tongue tied, confused, and basically star-struck, I didn't say anything except, "lovely," before I hopped back on my train and into my compartment. Fortunately, my window was right where he was standing, so he knocked and mouthed, "Where do you live?"

The train started moving before I could answer, so I threw open the window and stuck my head out. "Four!" I yelled as loud as I could, afraid the wheels, the wind and the whistles would drown out my voice. He nodded and smiled, as he grew smaller and smaller until he was nothing at all.

When the train had pulled out of the station and I was long gone from 8, I was wondering why did I not just stay with him and go back to 4? There was nothing I needed on that train, no luggage, no belongings; I really could have just gone home with him. So I had decided, as soon as I reached 13, I would go straight back to 4 to see him. However it was funny, because Malik's had a similar thought, and in fact he didn't catch the next train to 4, he caught the next train to 13. And as soon as my train to 4 had arrived and I had hopped onto it, Malik's train to 13 had arrived and as soon as my train was slowly moving away, our eyes met through the window, he was on the platform, and he comically smacked his head in exasperation.

About a month later, when I was swimming in the sea in front of my house, someone dived in next to me. I thought the colour of hair was familiar, but I couldn't place a name. Only when I came up for air and so did the person, did I realize who it was.

"Malik?" I laughed. In response, he splashed me. I splashed him straight back.

"Tyger, right?" he smiled, and I nodded. "Remember that hilarious night when we were trying to chase each other?"

There was something flirtatious in his voice, but over the course of two years, I realized that that was his natural voice, and he was often flirtatious. We had kissed a few times, but nothing came of it. We were best friends; insuperable apart from our locations and our visits was what I lived for.

The first week of school simply _dragged _by. By the third day, the first years didn't look so frightened anymore. As Anita Snow had promised, we just got used to it.

On Saturday morning, I was awoken to a shocking sight: Malik, pulling the most horrendous face. I let out a yelp and backed away, hitting my head on the bed post. He instantly pulled me into his warm, strong arms and we fell about, laughing our heads off.

Neither of us notices the chemistry between us, although it is there for sure.

I pulled him out of bed and downstairs where we shared a watermelon for breakfast. My father came through the door, wearing a mock serious look. "You be careful today Tyger, inexperienced sea men often drift to sea," he said, looking at Malik. He shot up straight and saluted.

"Inexperienced, sir? I don't know what you mean." He said formally and comically strode out the door in a military fashion. My father and I laughed.

"You could do a lot worse you know, Ty," he said in a hushed voice, "far worse."

I just gave him a pointed look and saluted him as I strode out the door following Malik.

I caught up with him half way down the beach, and he turned around to face me. "So, we're fishing today, yes?"

Bless him; he could hardly contain his excitement. "Yes Malik, we are. Come on." I lead him to my boat and started the engine.

"Do I get my very own rod?" he asked in mock childishness, grinning stupidly.

"Yes, yes you do," I was being patronising now, and he could sense it. Unexpectedly, he grabbed me round the middle and tickled me senseless. "Malik!" I screeched. "Malik, stop it now!" I was halfway between laughing and crying; when suddenly I realised the boat was tipping vigorously. "Hey, hey we're gonna capsize the bloody boat before you even catch your first bit of seaweed."

He stopped tickling me then, and just looked me straight in the eyes, head very close to mine. I could smell the watermelon from our breath. "Seaweed?" he whispered, "just you wait, Tyger. I'm gonna catch a bloody shark."

"I do hope you don't, Malik. The boat is barely big enough for the two of us."

The boat was my dear mother's old boat, and she inherited it from her father, my grandfather, when she was my age. My father says I get my sea skills from her, that she was the best fisherwoman around the whole District, even better than most the fishermen. My mother was a legend.

Apparently, sharks have rather a taste for legends.

"Also, sharks... just no." I whispered to Malik. He realized he had said something awful and apologised immediately.

"Oh Ty, no I didn't mean..."

"It's ok, let's... let's just fish, yeah?"

The boat started moving out to sea, and we weren't very far from shore when I let down the anchor and killed the engine, leaving it spluttering for a few seconds. It was an old thing, growing a slight green tinge around the edges, but I found it was something I adored. "She's getting old," I said with a hint of nostalgia.

It's almost humorous, the boat is called Nostalgia.

I handed Malik my first ever fishing rod, a small pathetic faded blue thing, with a thin wire and a rusty hook. He gave me a look but didn't push it; beginners were beginners. Suddenly I had to forget that we were best friends and become the teacher. It didn't last long though, my new formal character, because Malik was so pathetic that I ended up hitting him in the arm every so often and laughing so hard I almost fell out the boat.

"Look, Malik. Look," I stood behind him, held his hands while he still held the rod, and let him sink into me as I took control over his movements. A swift arm motion later, there was a fairly respectable fish at the end of his rod. He was extremely pleased with himself, so I went back to my own rod. I gave him a slightly cheeky smile before I brought my own hook in front of his face, because a huge rainbow trout hung from it. He slapped it out of the way, and still half alive, it leapt back into the ocean.

"Damn it Malik, that was a good catch!" I growled.

"Yes, but so am I." He purred and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

On the outside, it looked as though I thought nothing of it. _He _certainly looked like he thought nothing of it. But on the inside, I was blushing. Somehow, that was different to the previous kisses we had shared, even though this was only the cheek. I shook out of it, besides, we were just friends. Always had been. Always will be.

The sun began to set, and seeing as the ocean was a flat calm today, the golden orange glow reflected on the sea like a glass mirror, with the occasional small ripple creating a hypnotising effect. The horizon seemed both here and there. The sun grew a deeper red the more it sunk down, and the sky grew a baby pink colour. I had the greatest urge to look straight into the eye of the sun, but father had always said not to. Instead, I looked at the sun in the reflection of Malik's eyes. We had given up fishing a long time ago. I had filled my bucket with a fair amount, and he had three good sea bass in his. It was good enough. We now sat on the damp floor of the boat, arms locked around each other, staring into eternity.

The sky was a deep, infinite purple by the time we broke the silence. We had both managed to fall into some kind of trance, almost like sleep, but still half conscious. I shivered silently but my teeth had chattered, and Malik jumped at the sound.

"Woooahh..." he looked around and stretched, yawning as he did so.

"We should get back," I said, with a hint of regret in my voice.

Malik hitched up the anchor and I restarted the engine. Except, it wouldn't start. It kept spluttering and coughing, letting off a horrid smell of gas. I panicked. I didn't know what to do.

"M...Malik?" my voice was shaking. He was at my side in a second.

"What's the matter, Ty?"

"The boat, she... she just keeps coughing. And she won't start. Oh Malik, I think I've killed her."

"Nonsense, she's an old girl, she'll make it through." He said reassuringly.

Except, she didn't. And the sky grew darker and darker until the only light that enabled us to see was the huge, round moon and the winking stars. I had given up hope and put the anchor back down a few hours back, but Malik wouldn't let me down. He kept trying and trying with the poor engine, but she was spent.

"Malik." My voice sounded odd. I hadn't used it in a few hours. I pointed at the sky, "full moon."

He came and sat down next to me, wrapping a blanket around the both of us. "Full moon." He agreed.

I woke up soaking wet, and looking up at an overcast sky. There were a thousand different shades of grey in the miserable, stormy sky. Raindrops splattered our face and I suddenly realised I was being violently rocked around, and sat up. Malik was not beside me on the hard, damp floor. I stood up, barely able to walk on as the boat was shook vigorously by the stormy waves. I was completely calm, being a sea girl all my life, but Malik was bent double over the side of the boat, throwing up into the ocean. Poor District 13 boy, never been on a rocking boat before, sea sick. I rubbed his back and let him throw up every last bit of matter in his stomach before we huddled back down together in the blanket, under the small roof covering half the boat.

"What are we going to do now, Malik?" I asked, teeth chattering.

"Wait it out," he said monotonously, "good things happen to those who wait."

"Patience is a virtue," I said, without really knowing what it meant. The words sounded foreign in my mouth, but it was a phrase my mother used to say a lot. Malik looked at me and gave me the smallest of smiles.

By the time a boat had arrived next to us, we had lost track of time. Hunger and fatigue had gotten the best of us and we let the seamen lead us on to their boat, as they towed our boat back to shore, where my father was waiting, creases of worry lining his face. He pulled me tightly into a firm hug. He smelled strongly of alcohol. Of course, his favourite coping mechanism. I despised it, of course, but without the vile stuff he would never have got over my mother's death. And I expect, what with me not returning home from the sea last night, he had thought that I had suffered the same fate.

He let me go but held me at an arm's length, looking very seriously at me. "Tyger, what on earth happened?"

"I don't know, Dad, I'm sorry. She just... the engine just wouldn't start. I don't know what happened." The raindrops hid my silent tears. If I had broken Nostalgia... if the boat was broken because of me... the last physical item of my mothers... he would never forgive me.

Unexpectedly, he burst out laughing. Maybe he was still slightly drunk.

"Fuel, Tyger. You didn't take enough fuel."

My shoulders slumped. Fortunately, the kind seamen had gone home, otherwise they would have been laughing at me too and I wouldn't have been able to handle it. Embarrassment was not my strong point. I almost smacked my head, like Malik did all those nights ago at the train station in 13. I looked round at Malik, but he just shrugged. Huh. Poor District 13 boy. He wouldn't have known either. I let a small smile play around my lips and shook my head. I turned around to the boat and saw that it was safely docked, rocking gently in the small waves on the shore.

"Come on Stupid, let's go home." My father led the way to the house and I took Malik's hand.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

It had been a week since Malik returned to District 13. I hated that he only came round for only a day and a night at a time during the term. It was a boring Sunday. The sun couldn't decide whether to show its face or not and weather like this just aggravated me. Why couldn't it just make its stupid mind up? I rolled over in my bed and tried to go back to sleep but it was already one o'clock in the afternoon. There was nothing special about today; I could stay in bed all day, really...

Oh. The reason why my father hadn't woke me up yet. Why he was letting me lie in. This was rare of him, because he liked the days orderly. He had not awoken me yet because well, today it was...

Today was the Reaping.

And it was the fourth Quarter Quell.

And it was the first Centurion. Ever.

100 years since the first Hunger Games.

The reading of the cards was sure to happen soon. The cards were kept in a special ancient box, written before the first Hunger Games, to determine a special condition for every 25 years: a Quarter Quell. Every 25 years, people were to be reminded _even more _than we already were that the Capitol/Supremes were in power, so every 25 years the Hunger Games were even more horrific than usual. For the 50th Hunger Games, the second Quarter Quell, there was twice the amount of tributes. For the third Quarter Quell, the tributes were made up of the already existing victors, who had been in the arena already. And for the fourth Quarter Quell... well, I would find out soon.

Now that Anita Snow was in charge, the reading of the cards was not read in months advance. The reading of the cards was mandatory viewing on television half an hour before people were expected in the square, waiting to be reaped. This just made Reaping Day even more of a nerve-wracking experience for people.

The clock read 13:13. Oh this was a bad sign, 13 was an unlucky number and it was there, on my clock, twice. Twice the amount of bad luck. Just 17 minutes until the special condition for the Quarter Quell was read, and just 17 minutes until the special condition for the first ever Centurion was read. I was shaking so much, without knowing why. Everyone was nervous as hell on Reaping Day, everyone was inconsolable with fear (unless you were volunteering, which was not unknown for some people in my District actually), but me? I had a terrible feeling about today. No, not just terrible. I felt doomed.

"Tyger, honey?" My father was at my door. He was looking at me, trying to look positive, but let's face it, was any parent positive on the day that their child may be sent to their horrible and gruesome death?

I lifted my head from the pillow and realized I had been crying. He came over instantly and took me in his arms, rocking me gently like he did when I was a child. "Only three more years to go till you're free from this honey."

Was that meant to be comforting? He was trying his best, I suppose. I just nodded. Without a word, I shook myself free and chose my best dress. I simply think that it is ridiculous that we have to look 'nice' when we go to the Capitol, because we are assigned stylists anyway.

All part of good television I guess.

I had just put on my dress, brushed my hair back and walked into the living room when the television flicked on.

The reading of the cards.

"Panem." Anita Snow had a cold, harsh voice. She wouldn't even say welcome, or even pretend to be friendly, like her grandfather used to. "Today is the day that tributes will be selected."

Everything was so organised, so military now that Anita Snow was in charge.

"First things first. I am sure all of you know that this is the fourth Quarter Quell. Therefore," she opened a box and pulled out a card, yellow with age; "to emphasize the fact that the tributes must be strong, and win the Games for themselves, the special condition for the fourth Quarter Quell is that..." she paused and looked straight into the camera, into the eyes of every single citizen across Panem. "There will be no sponsors this year."

I almost fell over backwards. It was like my feet didn't exist anymore. No sponsors?! But sponsors were the lifelines of all tributes, without the sponsors, at least 80% of the victors wouldn't have been victors. But the bad news wasn't over yet. Before anyone in the country had enough time for that to properly sink in, Snow spoke again.

"This is also the 100th anniversary since our first ever Hunger Games. The glorious landmark year, 100. Panem's first ever..._ Centurion."_

The word itself sounded old, twisted and evil in her mouth. The country watched with bated breath. The atmosphere everywhere could be punctured with a needle. I sensed my father putting his arm around my shoulders, but I was numb.

I watched as the President opened a second box with her long, slim, pale fingers. She lifted out a card, still as yellow as the first, and even let a small wave of shock pass her face before reading it out.

"To celebrate that no one, not even the most protected and loved, are safe from evil... in the first Centurion, children from everywhere must participate. Including..." snow closed her eyes.

"Including children from the Capitol."

Holy shit.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter three**

The bells sounded before I could react properly. The bells from the clock tower, in the town centre, so deafeningly loud. Signalling the population of District 4 to congregate.

I turned to the mirror and let out a lot of air, not even realising I had held my breath. And in the mirror, I saw loss. A sense of giving up. I had felt doomed since this morning and it really was getting worse. My blonde hair was messy, as always, pushed roughly back into what was meant to be an elegant bun. Big brown eyes, slightly feline in shape, looking hollow with emptiness. Moderately tanned skin, losing its colour every second.

"Chin up," my father said, "it won't be you."

No, he was right, it won't be me. Think of the thousands upon thousands of people in the District. Think of the ones wanting to volunteer. Think of just how many want to volunteer, to be the victor in the first Centurion.

Well say I was reaped. I would not stand a chance. Thanks to my heritage, I might be invited with the Careers, but what use was I, realistically? A short, weak, 15 year old girl who had already signed off on life?

I'm not getting reaped, I'm not. I'm Tyger Bell, one of many, many children in the country. I never took Tesserae. My name is only in there a few times.

"Come on, Ty."

I flinched at the sound of my father's voice, bringing me back. I was so far away, so very far, my mind was already in the Games.

The weather was too hot, the dress too tight, the shoes too big. I was perspiration dripping from every pore, yet I was shaking like a leaf. I felt huge and bloated, and I looked clumsy. The temperature had nothing to do with my behaviour, however.

The square was vibrating and pulsing with emotion. Crying children, crying parents; the entire district closed in, surrounding me. I couldn't escape if I tried. Claustrophobia crept up on me like a lion with its prey.

I hated this. I was used to the open sea and the freedom of space, floating on a boat with Malik and clouds for company.

Malik.

I wonder how he is dealing with this.

Better than myself, I expect.

"District 4," our Capitol escort, Ingram, bellowed, silencing even the most agitated child. He was a tall man, with light green hair and a deathly pale face; never seen in anything but his well fitted purple suit, whatever the weather. Never seemed to sweat a drop.

Unlike me.

"You know the rules: straight to it." He briskly put his hand in the bowl with the names of every shaking child in the crowd and located a name. I wondered briefly if this man had any emotions. His blank face conveyed none as he picked a child. He opened the paper. No remorse, not even the typical Capitol-style sneer.

"Tabitha Bell."

You cannot imagine the relief on my face, it was not me, I was free for another year!

But no one took to the stage.

There were murmurs of confusion, and frustration. Who was this Tabitha?

Suddenly the crowd parted to let Peacekeepers through. I was about to step aside also and let them pass and collect Tabitha when a horrible, sinking sensation hit me.

Tyger is a nickname I had adopted from an early age. Apparently, I used to growl as a baby. Now, my nickname did me no good as I had temporarily forgotten my real name: Tabitha.

Tabitha Bell is me, and I was reaped for the Centurion.

A Peacekeeper was just about to grab me, just when I had decided something very important. I was going to win this damned thing. And I was shocked by how I reacted.

I guess, really, I had mentally prepared myself to be reaped. Maybe I am psychic, who knows. There was no time for tears. I had already wasted time.

I just strode out.

And took to the stage.

"They call me Tyger, just by the way."

Even old Ingram looked almost amused.

I gave a little courtesy to the crowd. I was their tribute, after all.

Ingram spoke.

"Joining Tabitha will be... Jonathan Mane."

A boy around my age, with dark curly hair that went past his eyes and ears and piercing blue eyes. His name didn't ring a bell. Neither did his face. And that was good, that I didn't know him, because I will feel less guilty about having to face him in death.

I felt so inhuman thinking these thoughts. The audience didn't clap. We were led inside. It was a very formal procedure.

Meanwhile, there was a war in my mind. I had had an hour with my father. Half an hour to thank for 15 years of love. I had no words. Tyger Bell, the girl who does not shut up, was speechless. The blue walls of the inside of the Justice Building swam, blurry with tears I refused to let spill. We stayed embraced. He stroked my hair, as if I were 5 again, not 15 and being sent to a bloody end.

"Daddy..." I croaked. He had lost my mother, and now he was losing me too. I was going to will him not to drink himself to death, but who was I to take away the one comfort that had stayed by his side? Instead, I sunk more into his shoulder. The apparent coolness I had displayed for the audience had evaporated. I was overwhelmed with emotion.

Too soon, the clock struck 3 and he was pulled out by the Peacekeepers. Gone. Forever. No amount of screaming seemed to bring him back. No matter how much I shouted obscenities at the Peacekeepers, who, let's face it, were just doing their job, no one else came to see me off. It's not that I had no friends exactly; it's just that Malik was my best friend.

And suddenly, a thousand scenarios of us together filled my mind and blinded me. His beautiful face, brighter than the sun; his magical green eyes, always slanted with a smile; his soft light hair that I had run my hands through countless times... his skin, pale yet flushed with life; incredibly toned, attractively tall, confidently striding towards me... I never told him that whatever happened between us I loved him infinitely. 'Just friends', no, not just friends at all. He knows I love him, he must, but I would love to be able to tell him so and kiss him with passion, maybe just once before I go. If I died and never saw him again I don't think heaven will be right for me. But what if he was reaped and what if we are thrown into the abyss together; I don't know what's a worse scenario.

When the door opened again, I half expected it to be him. Stupid. It was Ingram, of course it was Ingram. Formal, as ever, but not unkind. He saw the Games as a business, and despite his ridiculous Capitol get-up, he was a business man.

He placed a firm hand on my back and led me out. I took a deep breath and wiped any stray tears that had managed to escape. I was determined to show the cameras and crowds that they can bring whatever they wanted to in my direction, I was so alive and not ready to stop being alive.

When I look back at the Reapings on television, all you can see of me is a cold, hard exterior. Face giving away nothing. But if you looked close enough into my feline eyes, the hollowness that was there before has been replaced.

By fire.


End file.
